


St. Sebastian

by jar



Category: RocknRolla (2008), Snatch (2000), True Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-26
Updated: 2010-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-12 05:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jar/pseuds/jar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With an entirely straight face, Bob says: "This is Tommy, he wants to join the Wild Bunch. He's a thief."</p>
            </blockquote>





	St. Sebastian

**Author's Note:**

  * For [apiphile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apiphile/gifts).



With an entirely straight face, Bob says: "This is Tommy, he wants to join the Wild Bunch. He's a thief."

"Ain't we all," Fred says.

One Two snorts, and looks up.

Tommy is a couple of years and a few inches short of Bob. He's got a scar on his face that doesn't looks half as nasty as his smirk.

Mumbles leans back in his chair and folds his hands over his stomach. "Really."

"What, exactly, does he steal?" One Two asks, unable to keep his poker face on.

"Whatever you want." Tommy says, bouncing on his heals like he fancies himself a fighter too. One Two is fairly sure he could bench him, so the posturing is amusing.

"And where did you find this wee thief?" One Two asks.

"Followed me home," Bob supplies, eye sliding away from One Two's and glancing around the Speeler like he's never been there before. One Two's. He's. It's not as if he's jealous.

"Tell you what. You figure out a way we can get that," he throws the brochure advertising the exhibition onto the table at the relevant page, "lovely picture of the half-naked lad looking like a pincushion, and we'll think about it."

It's not that he's jealous, really. It's just the kid needs to prove himself. Can't just stand next to Bob and expect to be welcomed into their illustrious industry with open arms.

\---

Tommy's followed Bob in and out of the Speeler all week. One Two suggested he could walk his new puppy on Saturdays when Turkish and Tommy took their ugly dog for a stroll.

"What's up ya'll?"

"Nothing in particular is up with us all, Tommy," Mumbles answers.

"I don't think that's the proper way to answer that, Mumbles," One Two says. He meets Mumbles eyes and One Two frowns harder so he doesn't lose it and laugh.

"Isn't it?" Mumbles asks.

"It's alright, I'll teach ya'll proper English later."

"You know why it's called _English_ , Tommy? I'll give you a tip: not because the kind of people who use the word "ya'll" invented it."

Tommy pulls a chair over to the table and sits, arms crossed and looking disgustingly pleased with himself.

"Alright, would there be a reason you're looking like you just got laid?" One Two instantly regrets his choice of words.

Tommy smirks harder and Bob's chair squeaks quietly as he shifts.

One Two's face is hot from _irritation_ , nothing else.

"Got a good reason," Tommy says, but the irritating little bastard says nothing else.

"Out with it then," Mumbles says.

Tommy reaches into the pocket of his coat and throws what looks like the contents of a lady's purse across the table top.

"And what's all this?" One Two asks.

" _This_ is every key, alarm code and beeping swipe card thing you'll need to walk right in and grab your gay-ass painting."

One Two plucks a card off the table, stares at the flimsy piece of plastic. He's got nothing to say. With the keys in their hands, their job has just been made a thousand times easier, less of a break in, more of a stroll. Apparently no one else has much to say either.

"Guess I'm an official member then. You can deal me on into the game, I'm feelin' lucky."

"Now don't you gettin' ahead of y'self. How'd we even know they all work?"

"They work," Bob says. He pats Tommy on the back, and One Two can't help but notice his arm stays slung over the back of Tommy's chair.

Tommy looks so pleased with himself One Two wants to smack him one. He's impressed, though, even if he's _never_ saying that out loud.

\---

"I dinnea trust him."

"'E's a thief, One Two, and an American. Of course we don't trust him," Mumbles says.

One Two notices, then, that Tommy and Bob are nowhere to be seen.

"Where the fuck did Bob go?"

Mumbles shrugs.

Tommy follows Bob around like a fucking puppy dog. One Two is _sure_ they're fucking. Which isn't why he suggests Tommy acquire his own gun, of course. It doesn't bother him.

"I say he needs some more testing. No point makin' it easy for him. Just make him get a gun, see how he handles himself."

"Alright, we'll tell him he needs to get his own shooter," Mumbles agrees.

\---

"'Ow the _fuck_ did you get your hands on _this_?" Mumbles laughs.

It's not your average shooter, definitely not the kind of thing you pick up on short notice and for no cash (and One Two knows the kid has no cash, he's been staying at Bob's, not that One Two cares) it's a Desert Eagle 5.0 and it's about the size of Tommy's entire arm. It's fuckin' ridiculous.

Mumbles hands it to One Two. It weighs more than a couple of bricks.

"It's not exactly a real common gun, is it," One Two says. "I think I can feel why, Jesus Christ."

"How fucking cool is it?" Tommy asks.

"Who exactly did you pinch this off?" One Two has a sudden sinking feeling. Tommy wouldn't have though, he. Nah.

"You don't want to know," Bob says, mostly into the back of his own hand. Hiding a smile.

"Oh yes I fuckin' do," One Two says. "Tell me it wasn't--"

"Big guy," Tommy says, sitting down and flipping his feet up on the table. Fred glances up from fixing some numbers in his betting book and shoves them off. Tommy lets his feet fall, leans forward and bares all his teeth in a snarl. "Half his teeth fuckin' metal, like some shit out of James Bond."

"It's... Tony's? You stole this shooter offa _Bullet Tooth Tony?_ "

Tommy shrugs.

"I told you you didn't want to know, One Two," Bob shrugs.

One Two shifts and points at Bob. "This is all on you if Tony comes looking for it here."

"He won't," Tommy says.

"Aw, come on, One Two, he didn't know."

Yeah fuckin' right, One Two thinks.

\---

"He is good though," Mumbles says.

"He's looser than a call-girl's cunt, he's _good_ , but he's gonna end up dead he keeps doing stupid shit like stealing guns from fuckin' Bullet Tooth Tony."

"Aw, One Two, is you a widdle bit jealous that our Bobby's got a new best friend?"

"Mumbles, I respect you, man, but fuck right fuckin' off."

"Alright, alright: he comes through the other side of this job and we've got that picture for Johnny, he's in?"

"Okay, alright."

"Alright."

\---

It's not exactly a pointless exercise, One Two's always had an eye for expense, the line of a Louboutin stiletto heel can turn his head, he knows he can feel the difference between a Gucci shirt and a lesser one, and Archy's watch has always caught his eye. It's class all wrapped up in silver and a vintage quartz movement. He definitely wants it.

So it's not pointless, and he's got perfectly legitimate concerns about their new wee thief that he knows need testing. This'll certainly test him.

"Now, Bob... likes you," One Two doesn't stumble over those words at all, it's not a fuckin' thing. "And Mumbles has grown fond. Fred thinks you're funny. But I just have to know how good a thief you are before we make this permanent."

He explains he wants Archy's watch, tells Tommy he can find Archy around about the club Johnny's taken as his office most days.

"I don't know. Seems like a tiny-ass job to waste me on," Tommy shrugs.

"Well, if you _can't_ , that's a different matter. Just the kind of thief we're after has to be _flexible_ ," One Two sighs like it would pain him to have to cut Tommy loose before the job.

"I can fucking do it, Braveheart," Tommy mutters.

"What was that?" One Two raises his eyebrows. Tommy looks at the floor, then back up smiling toothy.

"I can do it," Tommy says, loud and clear.

Too easy.

\---

Tommy's dragged in by his upper arms, by two guys just tall enough so his feet barely touch the floor, en point. His cheek is glowing like a summer apple, one eye bruising around the socket. It looks nasty, but Tommy doesn't look like he's feeling it.

"Is this _yours_?" Archy says, stepping around the two men holding Tommy up like a prisoner chained to a wall.

"Why would you think that, Arch?"

"Well he has been yelling about being part of the Wild Bunch since I discovered him with his hand on my wrist attempting, I assume, to undo my watch."

"Ah, well. He's new around here, Arch," Bob pipes up, sitting at the other side of the table, well out of Archy's reach. Archy nods at him, then turns back to Tommy.

The goons let Tommy's arms go and he falls to his feet, but meet Archy's eyes. Archy leans forwards.

"A word of advice: if you want to keep your fingers, boy, you won't try me again," Archys says, stands straight and grins quick. "Alright! He's all yours. Mind you keep the cheeky bugger to yourselves from now on." Archy pats Tommy's bruised cheek, and Tommy flinches away but he's smiling when he looks back up. One Two's a little impressed, the kid's brave. Stupid, but brave.

One Two hears Bob swear quietly from behind him.

"Uh, Arch," One Two says, before the stupid little wanker can get himself killed being smart. "Just so you know, we've just about got Johnny's picture, yeah?"

"Well isn't that nice. Do call when you've actually got it."

\---

They bring him on the job because he needs tested, _not_ because One Two feels guilty.

The actual heist goes down smoother than a pint on payday.

In and out in ten minutes.

He rolls the balaclava up to his forehead and stares at the picture: there's a scantily clad young man, shot full of arrows, an expression on his face like he's been shot full of something else entirely. One Two can't say he quite gets what Johnny wants with it, but the idea of all the little portraits of Her Maj he'll be exchanging it for makes him smile at the canvas.

\---

They've all passed celebratory and stumbled into pissed by the time Tommy drags himself away from Bob's side (where he's been plastered all night, not that One Two minds, at all, he's not jealous), smirks and stumbles his way over to One Two.

"Hullo, Tommy. Don't just stand there, take a fuckin' seat man."

Tommy sits, quieter than he's been all night. He's turned off the irritating smirk and One Two finds he's just pleased enough with the job and headspinningly pissed enough he misses it.

"I've no idea how the fuck you got all those keys, Tommy, but well done," he says, trying to put a grin back on the stupid kid's face.

"Thanks," Tommy doesn't smile. "Hey, One Two-- I just wanted to tell you something man, I mean. Before I'm really," Tommy gestures expansively, "one of the guys."

One Two doesn't want to know. He's sure he doesn't. If it's about Bob-- he doesn't.

"What, Tommy? You'd better no be about to tell me you're a midget undercover policeman or somethin'." One Two's drink swishes dangerously close to flowing over the edge of his glass. Tommy smiles and leans over the table.

"No, fuck," Tommy keeps grinning, but stares down at his hands folded on the table between them. "It's just-- I like you, One Two. Really like you. And I don't want it to get in the--"

"No. Fuckin'. Way."

One Two closes his eyes and counts to ten. The back down to zero. Hopes that when he opens his eyes, he'll be back in some reality where this shit doesn't _happen_ to him.

When he's fairly sure he's prepared to calmly explain to Tommy how that's _not going to happen_ , he opens his eyes.

Bob's the first thing he sees.

Bob's leaning over the top of Tommy's slumped, shaking shoulders.

"Just... just fucking with you, bro," Tommy hiccoughs a laugh into the table.

Bob winks at One Two before jogging back to the bar.

"Bob. BOB. You get the _fuck_ back over here!"

\---

They stumble outside together in the wee hours.

"Tommy-- Tommy!" Mumbles yells after Tommy, who's walking one foot in the gutter and one out, passing his stupid gun from one hand to the other. The kid's talented, but he's a fuckin' idiot. "Tommy, put that fuckin' monstrocity away."

"Aye--" One Two shakes his head, unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth and tries again. "You cannae wave that cannon around in the street."

"Whatever, Braveheart," Tommy calls back without looking.

One Two just laughs.

"Oi, you _cunt_ ," someone yells from across the road, and One Two just about falls over, unsteady, turning around too fast to look. The guy's pointing one steady finger at Tommy, who's looking confused and holding the gun limp in one hand. "You." He jabs his finger. "Stupid little cunt. That is my fucking gun."

"Oh shit," Bob says, at the same time Mumbles is calling out, "Hullo, Tony."

Then, Tommy takes off his shirt, kicks off his shoes and trousers and turns into a dog.

Bob catches One Two on the way down, by virtue of already being on the ground himself. One Two looks up at Bob's chin, head resting on Bob's thigh.

"Did that just?"

Bob nods, not looking down.

One Two has... had far too much to drink. He closes his eyes and feels Bob's hand in his hair, and that's goodnight.


End file.
